Bleed
by eyesocketsandsuits
Summary: [[ PruHun Oneshots ]] Hungary was someone Prussia could throw himself against until she made him bleed.
1. Ragamuffins

The mothers called them 'gangs.' Really, it was just a bunch of boys against one another. The closest thing they had to a gang was Ivan and his crew, but they splintered off and reformed weekly. Gilbert had clashed with Ivan a couple of times; Ivan lived near the deserted woods, and usually ambushed Gilbert.

So, Gilbert focused on the others. The weaker ones—usually Feliks or Toris, if he wasn't back with Ivan. Had Gilbert not forced his little brother back into the arms of the orphanage, he was sure the two of them could have taken over the whole city.

Well, almost the whole city. There was always the Girl.

Gilbert lived near the bars. His pale blond, almost white hair was usually covered in dirt and grime. He scavenged the ground after bar fights, looking for lost valuables. More than once, he had to fight off one of the blundering adults to snitch wallets or watches. He was savage compared to the other boys, who lived near the apartments or markets.

But the markets are where Gilbert wanted to be.

Today, he walked around Rose's Cantina, cracking his knuckles. It was too early in the day to beg money off of drunkards, but he was starving. He peered over toward the markets, wondering if Toris was back with Ivan. With one last pat on the cantina's doorway, Gilbert made his way through the tightly packed crowd.

Men and women eyed him suspiciously. The blond was beginning to become too tall and wide to walk around unnoticed. This was an advantage fighting other boys, not so when it came to pickpocketing. Gilbert snarled at the adults, head down.

Finally. "Oi, Toris," Gilbert called, catching sight of the brunet lounging by a fruit stand. "Got anything good for me?" He grinned, padding closer and pulling out his pocket knife.

Toris stood, clenching his fists. "Gilbert, I don't want any trouble…" He took a step back. "Plus, I think—"

Gilbert laughed, forcing Toris back into an alley way by the stand. It was dark, cold, and more importantly, a dead-end. He played with his knife.

"Well, now that you and Ivan broke up, I just want a bit of your money and food," Gilbert used his height, leering down at Toris. "I mean, it's an awful lot for one little boy. I ne—" His voice cracked. Gilbert coughed. "I need it more than you."

Toris opened his mouth to respond.

And then someone kicked Gilbert in the small of his back. He fell on his face, letting out an embarrassingly high yell. He floundered in the dirt before managing to flip onto his back, squinting at the figure at the entrance of the alley. Toris trotted around to stand with him.

"What are you doing with that knife, Gilbert? You wouldn't know how to cut a piece of cheese with it, let alone Toris."

… With _her_.

Gilbert scrambled to his feet, puffing out his chest. She raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. Her slingshot was in one hand, her other hand resting on her hip, long brown hair tied back into a professional, if untidy, bun.

"Elizabeta," Gilbert said, crossing his arms. He made his voice deeper. "Shouldn't you be buying dresses or something?"

She laughed, taking a step forward. "Still upset you had no idea I was a girl until a month ago, Gilbert?" The smile fell off her face. "And I could beat you up and down this street wearing a dress, and you know it." She paused. "And I'd look _good_ doing it."

Gilbert swallowed, throat suddenly very dusty. He laughed, shaking his head. "Please, girly—"

In a flash, the slingshot was aimed at his face, smooth river stone ready to take out an eye. Her hands were unwavering and her face deadly serious. Gilbert automatically held his hands up.

"Call me 'girly' again, Gilbert," her face twitched into a smile. "I dare you."

Gilbert sucked in air through his teeth. Then, he kicked sand up, right into Elizabeta's eyes. He lunged, knocking her over and pinning her to the ground. He laughed in her face.

"Girly."

He had forgotten about Toris until he kicked Gilbert in the shoulder.

The blond yelped, arm recoiling. Then, Elizabeta was on top, Gilbert's dagger pressed to his own throat. Elizabeta smiled down at him. God, for a girl, she could sure hold his ass down. Gilbert pouted.

"No fair, there's two of you."

Elizabeta snorted. "There's only one of _me_. Now, listen here," she wiggled the dagger in front of Gilbert's face. "You leave Toris alone. He already has Ivan breathing down his back, he doesn't need your scrawny ass chasing him down, either."

Gilbert would have protested, but that dagger was waving ever so persuasively near his rugged features.

"Fine," he muttered. He mocked sighed, rolling his head back slightly. "Too bad. I bet you'll miss seeing me."

Elizabeta laughed. "Please. I have a thing for blonds, but you…" She hopped up, foot pressing gently against Gilbert's throat. "You're probably the most disgusting boy I have ever laid eyes on."

Gilbert nodded, considering. "So, what you're saying is, if I wash my hair… There's a chance?" He smirked.

Now, what Gilbert had expected was Elizabeta to maybe give him a new scar, or kick him in the side of the head. Instead, she cocked her head, eyes flicking down Gilbert's body before making eye contact once again.

Gilbert felt his face warm up. "What—" His voice cracked.

Elizabeta laughed, dropping the dagger. It landed by Gilbert's head, blade sticking into the dirt. She took her foot off his throat, and by the time Gilbert had grabbed his knife and sat up, she and Toris were gone.

The blond snorted, standing up and brushing the dirt off his clothes. "Stupid girls."


	2. Bleed

**Anonymous said :** I'm so happy you're back! If you're feeling up to it could you write some Pruhun? Honestly I'd love to read anything from you: Spamano, Gerita, whatever u feel like hun xxx

* * *

Every town had one. It was usually a bar, or an old gym that went broke, or sometimes just a field with bottles scattered around the edges, around the grass.

Prussia was an expert at finding them. For whatever reason, all his life, he was drawn to fighting.

But of course, no human could match up to him; even when he was barely anything more than a human now, wounds taking too long to heal, coughing up blood for weeks after a kick in the ribs.

Prussia sucked in snot and blood, spat it out. This human was good, fast, but he was getting tired, bouncing on his toes like that. Prussia took the hits, kept his heels on the ground.

Snap, snap, snap, three in a row, right into the kid's face. The kid fell back, stumbled, another punch, a kick in the ribs to keep him down. The kid sucked in air, tried not to cry, and Prussia gave him another kick.

The crowd booed.

Prussia threw up his hands. Wrists taped.

"What? _What_?" he yelled in German, grin half-feral. "Who's next? Heh?" He cackled, voice rasping. "Who's next?!" he shouted, in Russian this time.

He spun in a wild circle, smile turning into a snarl as he saw more and more angry faces. The more disgust he saw in their eyes.

"Who's _next_?!" he bellowed.

He froze when he saw her.

Hungary stood with her arms crossed, in shorts and a nice top. Her hair was pulled back in a braid.

"What are you doing here?" Prussia asked. His voice got swallowed up in the crowd's murmur.

But she must have heard him. She looked so sad, her eyes soft, a slight disapproving frown. She looked so pretty there, the streetlight gave her a halo, made her hard features soft, the furrow in her brow less disappointment, more concern.

She lowered her hands, and he saw for the first time that her wrists were taped. She stepped forward. Pink sneakers.

The crowd jeered, catcalled, but for Prussia… It was just the two of them standing there as she walked toward him. Shook out her hands, cracked her neck. Her jaw clenched. Something in her changed, and she became an opponent.

Hungary was someone Prussia could throw himself against until she made him _bleed_.

He snarled and lunged, trying to get the best of her. Left jab, left jab, tried to trip her up.

But she knew him too well. She skipped under the punches, hooked her foot into his.

He stumbled. She cracked him across the face.

Prussia stumbled back, stars dancing across his vision. He stayed away until his head stopped swimming, but Hungary wasn't going to come after him.

She stood where she had before, knees bent, arms up, calm.

Prussia darted forward, fists raised until the last second, then he ducked. He slammed his shoulder into her stomach, and he heard the breath leave her lungs.

But Hungary had been a warrior too, and the reflexes were coming back to her.

Her knee lifted, bumped the bottom of his chin, but he was already rising. He came at her with his right fist, and managed to get a blow in.

Hungary pulled away, trying to give herself space. Prussia came at her again. She kicked out, slammed her foot into his. His foot slipped on the dirt, he lost his balance, he fell forward. She kneed him in the face.

Pain slammed from Prussia's nose to the back of his head. He tasted the blood in his mouth. Felt it sting his eyes.

Felt tears form.

He screamed at her.

Hungary watched him, face still set in that sad way. She _pitied_ him.

Prussia dug his fingers into the dirt and launched himself at her. He kept himself high, swung his fists at her face, her stomach. Her arms were there before him, hands deflecting his.

Her elbow cracked into his mouth. Prussia felt a tooth snap.

He leaned back, but she was right there again, slapping him on either side of the face. Pain hit him, made him dizzy. Nauseous.

"Prussia," Hungary said, "stop this."

" _Fuck_ you," Prussia snarled.

 **…**

Again and again those fists and elbows slammed into his face.

 **…**

A knock on the hotel door.

"Prussia?"

Prussia stared up at the ceiling. His face was numb. Only his mouth still hurt, but a few more shots of vodka, maybe…

"Prussia? Please, open the door. Your brother was worried about you. I'm worried about you." Another knock. "Come on, I know you'll have some good booze in there. And I'll stitch you up."

Prussia dragged himself off the bed, fumbled with the doorknob, fingers pleasantly drowning in alcohol. He didn't see her come in, collapsed back into the bed. Pressed his nose into the bedsheets, felt bone scrape along cartilage.

Hungary sat down next to him.

Prussia didn't look at her. "How did you find me?"

Hungary sighed. "You have habits. You're spiteful, sometimes. You throw temper tantrums. You want to hurt yourself. It doesn't take a genius to find the local bar brawl. To find you, beating up citizens." Her voice changed pitch. "Come on, roll over."

Prussia did, slowly. "I'm dying."

Hungary pressed gauze against his face, shoved some up his nose. "Well, maybe you shouldn't go looking for beatings and then get drunk. This is going to sting."

"Why?" Prussia asked.

Hungary didn't answer. She pressed gauze and cleaning solutions and anti-biotics into his scrapes, pressed and icepack against his cheekbone.

She took a sip of his vodka.

"Because. That's what you wanted."

Prussia's eyes couldn't focus on her. "Wanted to get beaten up?"

Hungary shrugged. "You wanted me to distract you. And then you wanted to make you feel better. I distracted you, but I'm not going to tell you something we both know isn't true."

Prussia frowned. "How the fuck do _you_ know what I want?"

Hungary swirled around the bottle, watched the light catch on the waves. "I've known you a long time. I know you're scared."

And then her hand slid into his.

Prussia closed his eyes. "Do you remember when you married Austria? Did you miss fighting with me? Did you die?" His words were slurring. "I don't want to die."

"Shh," Hungary breathed.

The light flicked out, and then Hungary rested her face in the crook of his neck.

He could smell her sweat and perfume. His face stung.


End file.
